By Joshua Holtzman

*Credit: Joshua Holtzman | Gut Instinct Media*

I’m always excited to go to these big events until it’s time to put on my suit, then my suit feels more like a straitjacket. “I don’t want to go.” “Who cares?” “I hate these kinds of events anyway.” Ever since I went to the Cannes Film Festival and tasted the sourness of meeting your heroes, the energy of these grand events feels false. Yet, the Webbys left me with bits of joy.

While I’m waiting outside the check-in, a boomer laughs at a woman’s stunning red backless dress, “Where’s the rest of her dress?” he whines. “You'll see a lot more of that at the Webbys,” I quip. “What?” “The Webbys, it's like the Oscars of the internet.” This interaction was the entire night for me, recognizing the outlandish and loving it.

Inside Cipriani Hall, there was a warm air of serious unseriousness. The host, Josh Johnson, led a doom-scrolling masterpiece as he had a funeral for the trends that need to die, and the 5-word speeches were blasted one after another at the audience. Leaving us feeling like we had just watched a friend's shared Reels.

Pete Davidson accepting an award with, “I’m still dead inside.” PBS is receiving a lifetime achievement award while highlighting its been defunded by the current U.S. administration. The Shonda Rhymes leaving the stage with, “I’m just getting started. Vic Mensa name-drops “Gaza, Sudan, and the Congo.” Every guest seemed like they were comfortable being themselves.

While wallflowering, you hear people really being themselves. Hearing a certain legendary YouTube duo that rhymes with “The Fry Ties,” complain about taking pictures was quite endearing. Even childhood heroes don’t like their job sometimes.

As for me, I’m from a suburb outside of Richmond, Virginia. I had to ask if the drinks were free. When a random man in the bathroom offered me a hand towel, I was confused. I was left curious about how the staff was treated.

When it ended, everyone flooded out onto Wall Street through a single revolving door pushed by security. Basically everyone said thank you—emphasis on basically everyone. The only people who didn’t say thank you, I recognized, were those who work for AI companies. I’m not surprised the “artists” working with robots instead of humans don’t have the empathy to say thank you.

During breaks, they would play past Webby performances on-screen like Fred Armisen or Will Ferrell. The closest Hollywood stars here were Shonda Rhimes and maybe Pete Davidson. Druski was here instead, which is way cooler. They don’t need to pay Hollywood to treat the internet seriously anymore.

The internet is the star. And I think, by now, we all know that.

In between every guest change, chatter would murmur out. I even saw guests talking while people were on stage. Drinks were flowing. Can you blame them?

However, everyone turned to listen when the Executive Director of the Webby Awards got on stage. He quoted a statistic from the early 2000s when the average person spent 30 minutes a month on the internet. Now, we spend our entire lives here. “Here, you can feel comfortable admitting that.”

Wallflowering at The Webbys

By Joshua Holtzman

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